


Waiting for the Kon Express

by hey_its_lyn



Series: TimKon Week 2020 [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Creepy Ra's al Ghul, Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, Tim is (not) a Damsel in Distress, TimKon Week 2020, prompt: under lock and key
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_its_lyn/pseuds/hey_its_lyn
Summary: Tim Drake is not a damsel in distress. He is not a pretty little princess who gets trapped in a tower and has to be saved by some stupid prince charming.Ra's al Ghul is making it particularly difficult to uphold his reputation as the tough, no-nonsense vigilante Red Robin by running his car off the road and locking him in a tower like some knock off Rapunzel.Kon is going to be so pissed. They had plans this weekend.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Ra's al Ghul, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: TimKon Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740391
Comments: 8
Kudos: 321
Collections: TimKon Week





	Waiting for the Kon Express

**Author's Note:**

> TimKon Week 2020. First time ever doing this. We'll see how it goes.
> 
> Day 1: Under Lock and Key / Future

Tim Drake is not a damsel in distress.

He is not a pretty little princess who gets trapped in a tower and has to be saved by some stupid prince charming.

And yet, here he is, locked in a tower in the mountains of who knows where, while Ra’s al Ghul attempts to convince him yet again to be his heir. Tim knows he’s probably actually serving as a distraction for Batman while Ra’s is up to one new nefarious, terrorist attack or another, but still.

Ra’s never does make much sense. It’s always the theatrics with him.

So, Tim is trapped in some tower built into the mountain, waiting for his goddamn prince charming to come pick him up.

He doesn’t know quite exactly _how_ it happens, but it starts like this:

Tim is at work at Wayne Enterprises, reading through quarterly reports and blinking to try and stop feeling like there are glass shards embedded in his eyes.

It’s been a long week, with three consecutive all-nighters, and Tim’s past the point of being merely exhausted. He’s tired in the bone-deep kind of way. All he wants is to fall into bed and sleep for a solid twelve to twenty-four hours.

Thankfully, it’s the Thursday before Memorial Day, and he and Kon made plans to hang out weeks ago. Kon will pick him up at the Nest at six o’clock and fly them to the Kent farm for the long weekend. Four days of Ma Kent’s cooking, a quiet Kansas farm, and actual sleep without the disruption of his night job.

When he first starts spending time at the Kent Farm, the silence bothers him. His ears ring and everything is too sharp to really relax. He grew up in Gotham, has lived and slept in the city for over a year now, and the silence of rural Kansas couldn’t be more different than the constant hustle and bustle and noise of the city. Yet the longer Tim spends there, the more he visits Kon, the more he finds comfort in the quiet.

Tim glances at his clock, and upon seeing the steady display of 4:17, he begins cleaning off his desk. He never leaves this early, but he knows that if he’s not on the roof of the Nest by the time Kon arrives, Superboy will just fly to Wayne Enterprises and knock on his office window, secret identities be damned.

Sorting the documents spread out in front of him is easy. Tim makes three different piles, puts the non-important ones in a desk drawer, the semi-important ones in the locked drawer, and the actually important ones in the hidden safe that only opens with his or Tam’s biometrics.

Tim refuses to be one of those people that carries a legitimate briefcase, instead opting for a sleek black messenger bag that rests on his hip. He slings the bag over his shoulder, drops his phone into his pocket, and locks his office to head down to the underground parking garage.

Tam knows his plans for the weekend, so she merely waves at him from where she’s packing up her own desk. The security guards stationed on the floor, however, stare at him with wide eyes. Tim offers them a smile, raising his hand in a wave.

“Have a great night, Mr. Held, Mr. Johnson. Enjoy your weekend.”

Mr. Held nods, looking pleased once he shakes off the initial surprise. “You too, Mr. Drake. It’s nice to see you leaving on time for once.”

“Got plans with a friend,” Tim says. “He’s not the patient type.”

The two guards glance at each other from the corner of their eyes, lips twitching in a barely repressed smiles.

“Good to hear it,” says Mr. Johnson. “Stay safe this weekend.”

Tim grins, stepping into the high-access only elevator. “You got it.”

The doors of the elevator slide closed, quickly descending to the sublevel garage where he’s parked. Even in its civilian form, Red Bird is a car worth marveling over. Tim makes quick work of sliding into the driver’s seat, setting his messenger bag in the passenger seat as Red Bird rumbles to life beneath him.

Tim’s apartment isn’t in the nicest part of Gotham, and it’s rather far from Wayne Tower. An unfortunate reason why he often crashes at the Tower’s penthouse when he ends up staying late. It will take him nearly an hour to get home in the traffic, so Tim heads out of WE’s underground garage with the vague hope of making it back to his apartment before the worst of the evening rush begins.

Thankfully, Tim knows the backroads of Gotham like the back of his hand from his years of patrolling. He normally wouldn’t take the shortcuts because heaven knows when Vicki Vale may be following him and what scandalous explanations she’ll come up with for why Timothy Drake-Wayne is driving through Gotham’s lesser known, often poorer neighborhoods. (It’s not like he lives in the Bowery or anything.) But Tim is, for once, actually looking forward to this weekend, so Vicki Vale’s snooping can go to hell.

Which is why he’s so pissed when a truck rams into the passenger side of Red Bird and pushes the car off the road and into the side of an abandoned car shop.

Tim, through the pounding of his head from where it slams against the steering wheel, is less than thrilled when Ra’s al Ghul appears beside his window, tutting in disapproval.

“Detective,” the Demon’s Head greets. “Shame that this is how we meet again.”

Tim finds the panic button hidden in his steering wheel and presses it. “Well, you could just leave me alone, and you know, not push my car into a brick building.”

Ra’s smiles. “Now where’s the fun in that? Come now, Timothy. We must hurry before that clone of yours wakes up and foils my plans before they even start.”

Tim snarls, finally struggling with his seatbelt and reaching for the extra collapsible bo staff he keeps strapped to the side of the center consul. “What did you do to Kon?”

Ra’s waves a hand. “Nothing he won’t recover from. There’s no need to worry.”

“With you, there’s always a reason to worry.”

Tim acts quickly, shoving his car door open as hard as he can, catching Ra’s is the gut. Ra’s is unfazed. Tim doesn’t care as he brings his staff down on Ra’s head. He, of course, sees it coming and simply steps to the side. Ra’s sighs.

“Honestly, Timothy,” he says. “This would be so much easier if you would just stay still.”

“Maybe I should,” Tim replies, holding his staff out in front of him. “If I did that, I might bore you enough that you’ll finally leave me alone.”

“Perhaps,” Ra’s admits. “You’re so interesting, and losing that spark of yours would be such a shame.”

“How sad.”

Tim’s too annoyed with Ra’s and too distracted by the pounding of his head to notice the assassin with the dart gun until a tranq dart is stuck in his thigh. Tim scowls.

“I really hate you,” he says, already feeling the effects of the dart taking place. “Really, really, hate you.”

Tim wants to punch the stupid smug look off of Ra’s’ face.

/\/\/\

Tim is unsurprised when he wakes up in an unfamiliar room, stripped of his staff and all of his hidden trackers. He’s still in his rumpled work suit, though, so Tim will take that as a win.

He forces himself to sit up, feeling the soft silk of sheets under his fingers. Tim takes in his surroundings, mindful of the fact that his head feels as though someone has stuffed cotton between his ears. Definitely a concussion then. Tim glances around, blinking to try and get his eyes to focus in the dark.

He’s in a large, circular room with candles acting as his only sources of light, littered in various places throughout the room. The walls and floor are made of old stone, covered in thick tapestries that do little to keep away the chill in the air. There’s a fire burning in a fireplace on the other side of the room, flickering streaks of light darting to and fro across the floor.

Tim himself is swamped in thick blankets on a king-sized bed. He scowls. There’s no door that he can see, likely hidden by the tapestries. The single window is shuttered closed.

Slowly, Tim swings his legs over the side of the bed. Someone has removed his shoes, and his socks sink into the plush rug beneath his feet. Standing takes more effort than he’d like to admit, but Tim’s gone through much worse than a measly concussion, so he forces himself to make his way to his feet. He sways slightly, though the hand remaining on the bed steadies him until he gathers his bearings.

Tim warily works his way through the room. He searches for any hint of where he may be, knowing Ra’s wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave anything for him to use to escape. All that’s in the room is an assortment of candles, a large wardrobe, and a few books placed on a nightstand. Tim’s sure he could use the candles for something, but he also doesn’t want to risk a fire when surrounded by tapestries and carpets.

Tim scowls. Annoying freaking Ra’s.

Tim quickly makes it to the window, surprised when he can undo the latch and push the shutters open. The surprise fades to anger when he realizes just why the window can open.

Illuminated only by the bright shine of the full moon and the gleam of stars, unclouded by any sort of pollution or clouds, is a mountain range that goes on as far as his eye can see. When Tim glances down, he sees that there is at least a hundred- and fifty-foot drop to the ground.

Ra’s stuck him in a tower.

Ra’s stuck him in a tower, and even if Tim stripped every tapestry from the wall and tied them together with every rug covering the floor, there’s no way for Tim to make it to the ground without going splat.

Tim can survive a lot, but not even he can survive becoming a human pancake.

Stupid Ra’s. Stupid theatrics. Stupid tranq darts, stupid mountains, stupid candles.

Tim resigns himself to sitting awake and trying to think of nearly fifty different escape plans with about a hundred contingencies each. He ignores the migraine growing behind his eyes and channels all of his absolute loathing for Ra’s into keeping himself from giving in to the sedative still in his system and falling back asleep. That would be a great way for Ra’s to find him.

Hours pass as Tim forces himself to think. When he realizes that he’s not getting anywhere on escape plans, he begins going over the different codes he and Barbara have been talking about collaborating on to keep himself busy.

The wind from the open window bites against his skin, turning the cool air nearly frigid. Eventually, the sky begins to lighten until the blacks of the night have been replaced with the pinks and orange of the morning. Tim’s migraine has gotten worse, but it’s not the worst he’s ever had. The silence is reminiscent of the Kent’s farm, and it makes Tim’s insides boil when he thinks about it.

Nothing that he associates with Kon should ever be tainted by someone like Ra’s al Ghul.

Tim’s not sure exactly how long passes, only that the night has fully given way to morning, and he’s gotten nowhere with any of his ideas. His thoughts are completely scrambled. The frustration he has worked so hard to tuck away when he stresses out is seeping past his carefully constructed walls. Tim feels utterly helpless, and he hates it.

Tim is so caught up in his anger that he doesn’t even notice the tapping at his window until someone yells his name.

Startling, Tim jumps to his feet, stumbling when his vision fogs over with dizziness. His knees crash against the floor and a jolt of pain runs down his legs.

“Tim! Are you okay?”

Eyes wide at the familiar voice, Tim looks towards the window.

“Kon?”

Sure enough, Kon is hovering outside, brows furrowed in concern. He looks as though he wants to crawl through the window, but it’s too narrow for his broad shoulders and general bulk.

“That’d be me,” he says. “Kon Express, at your service.”

Tim stumbles his way to his feet, ignoring the bruising feeling in his kneecaps. His vision narrows in on Kon, and Kon alone. He makes it to the window seconds later, reaching past the open shutters to grip the sleeves of Kon’s old jacket. He rarely wears it anymore, only when he knows he’s going somewhere especially cold.

More seriously, Kon asks, “Are you okay?”

Tim nods absently. “Concussion,” he says. “Knocked my head against my steering wheel. A couple of bruises. Um… I think the sedatives from the tranq are still in my system. ‘M dizzier than I should be.”

Kon frowns. “And Ra’s?”

“Haven’t seen ‘im since I woke up.”

Kon’s expression seems to lighten slightly at that. “Good,” he says. “I haven’t seen him anywhere near here, and last I heard he was somewhere in Nepal. Batman said this is an abandoned League prison in Tibet. He thinks Ra’s stuck you here thinking Bats wouldn’t have heard of it before.”

“I hacked his database before I blew up the League,” says Tim, slightly miffed. “All of that data was uploaded to the Batcomputer; it has the location of every known League base.”

Kon shrugs. “You don’t hear me complaining. Old bastard seems to forget that I regularly keep track of your heartbeat. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here. We can be back at the farm in time for lunch.”

“Sounds good. I could use some of Ms. Martha’s cooking.”

“Course you can. You’re still skin and bones.”

Tim shakes his head in amusement as he sets his hands on the window sill and pushes himself up. The wind sweeps through his hair, blowing his bangs into his eyes as he balances on the slim ledge, careful to keep from tipping too far forward, even though he knows Kon will catch him if he falls.

“Wait,” Kon says. Tim pauses, crouched on the ledge. He feels slightly unsteady, though it simply reminds him of all the times he’s balanced on a roof’s edge during a stakeout or patrol. “Here.”

Kon shrugs out of his jacket, handing it over to Tim. He can still feel Kon’s warmth in the inner fabric, smell his body wash the comforting musk that’s so familiar after years of working together.

“It’s cold in the mountains, and the Atlantic is going to be worse with the wind.”

Tim smiles, soft and sweet. “Thanks,” he says, tugging his arms through the jacket until it’s draped across his shoulders. The sleeves reach well past his fingertips, and the collar is warm when he burrows into it.

Kon grins but doesn’t say anything more. Tim doesn’t look down as he reaches for Kon’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around Kon’s neck. Kon meets him halfway, wrapping a thick arm around Tim’s waist and lifting him the rest of the way off of the window ledge. He pulls Tim forward and the arm tightens around his waist as he shifts until Tim is held securely in a bridal hold. Tim smiles into Kon’s neck, soaking in his warmth and the comfort he offers.

“Ready to go home?”

“Absolutely.”


End file.
